rest stunned by the suddenness of their ship's ends when they had done so much to repair and save her?
Over and over again Bolitho searched his mind to examine his actions, to discover what else he might or should have done. By carrying out his orders, by putting duty before the true desire to help the damaged frigate, he had left her like a helpless animal before the tiger?
In his heart he believed he could have made no other decision. But if he had realised that the two transports were no longer so desperately needed, he also knew he would have acted differently. When he had admitted as much to the brig's captain he had replied, 'The[
your Sparrow, too, would be at the bottom, for Bonaventure is more than a match for anything but a ship of the line!'
Apart from matters of duty, errands to use his presence or his purse on shipyard clerks, Bolitho refrained from going ashore. Partly because he thought it unfair when his men were penned in their ship, the size of which seemed to shrink with each passing day, and partly because of what he saw there? The military preparations were usual enough. Artillery wheeling and exercising, the horse-drawn limbers charging at full tilt, to the delight of idlers and yelling children. Foot soldiers drilling and sweating in the grinding heat, he had even seen cavalry on severyl occasions?
No, it went far deeper. The worsening news from inland seemed to reach just so far and then stop. In the great houses, rarely a night passed without some fine ball or reception being held. Staff officers and rich traders, ladies in full gowns and glittering jewels, it was hard to realise they were so close to a full-scale war? Equally, he knew his disgust came from his own inability to mix in such circles. In his home town ob Falmouth his family had always been respected, but more as seafarers than local residents. He had gone to sea at the age of twelve, and his education had been more concerned with navigation and learning the mysteries of every eye and cleat, each foot of cordage required to sail a ship under all conditions, than the art of making small-talk and mingling with some of the bewigged jackadandies he had seen in New York. The women, too, seemed different. Beyond reach. Unlike the outspoken countrywomen in Cornwall or the wives and daughters of fellow sea-officers, they appeared to give off a power all of their own. A boldness, a certain amused contempt which both irritated and confused him whenever he came in contact with their perfumed, privileged world?
He had allowed Tyrrell to go ashore whenever possible, and had been surprised to see the change in him. Instead of showing excitement or relief at being amongst men like himself, places he had often visited in his father's schooner, he withdrew still further, until eventually he avoided leaving the ship unless on some particular duty. Bolitho knew he had been making inquiries about his family's whereabouts, anything which might give him some hint of their safety or otherwise. Also, he believed that Tyrrell would tell him in his own good time, if that was what he wished?
And then, three months almost to the exact day after watching the French frigate pounding herself to fragments off the hidden bar, Sparrow was once more ready for sea. When the last shipwright had been escorted ashore, each watched to make certain he took no more than he had brought with him, and the watch-lighters and yard hoys had pulled clear of the side, Bolitho wrote his report for the admiral. Another special mission, to carry despatches, or merely to return to Captain Colquhoun's command, he now cared very little which it was to be. Just to be under sail again, free of urbane flag officers and inscrutable clerks, it was all he wanted?
When Tyrrell came aft to report the ship cleared ob shore workers Bolitho asked, 'Will you dine with me this evening? We may be too occupied in the near future.'
Tyrrell looked at him dully.' My pleasure, sir.' He sounded worn out. Spent?
Bolitho stared through the open stern windows towards the anchored ships and the pale houses beyond?
'You may share your worries with me, Mr. Tyrrell, if you wish.' He had not meant to say what he did. Bu?
the look of despair on the lieutenant's face had pushed all caution aside?
Tyrrell watched him by the windows, his eyes in shadow.' I did get news. My father lost his schooners, but that was expected. They went to one side or t'other? Makes no difference. My father also owned a small farmstead. Always said it was like th' one he had once in England.'
Bolitho turned slowly.' Is that gone, too?'
Tyrrell shrugged.' Th' war reached th' territory some months back.' His voice became distant, toneless? 'We had a neighbour, called Luke Mason. He an'] grew up together. Like brothers. When th' rebellion began Luke was up north selling cattle an' I was at sea? Luke was always a bit wild, an' I guess he got carried along by all the excitement. Anyway, he joined up to fight th' English. But things got bad for his company. they were almost wiped out in some battle or t'other? Luke decided to go home. He had had enough of war,] guess.'
Bolitho bit his lip.' He went to your father?'
'Aye. Trouble was, my father was apparently helpin' th' English soldiers with fodder an' remounts. But he was fond of Luke. He was like family.' He gave a long sigh.' Th' local colonel heard about it from some goddamn informer. He had my father hanged on a tree and burned th' house down for good measure.'
Bolitho exclaimed, 'My God, I'm sorry!'
Tyrrell did not seem to hear.' Then th' Americans attacked an' th' redcoats retreated.' He looked up at the deckhead and added fiercely, 'But Luke was safe? He got out of th' house before it burned around him. And you know what? Th' American colonel hanged Luke as a deserter!'
He dropped on a chair and fell against the table.' In th' name of hell, where's th' goddamn sense in it all?'
'And your mother?' He watched Tyrrell's lowered head. His anguish was breaking him apart?
'She died two years back, so she was spared all this. There's just me now, an' my sister Jane.' He looked up, his eyes reflecting the sunlight like fires? 'After Cap'n Ransome had done with her, she disappeared. Christ alone knows where she is!'
In the sudden silence Bolitho tried to discover ho/
he would feel if, like Tyrrell, he was faced with such an appalling discovery. Ever since he could remember he had been taught to accept the possibility of death and not shirk from it. Most of his ancestors had died at sea in one manner or another. It was an easy thing to do? Quite apart from a brutal end under cannon fire or the plunge of an enemy's sword, there were countless traps for the unwary. A fall from aloft, drowning, fevers men died as much from these as anything fired from a gun. His brother Hugh had been a lieutenant in the Channel Fleet when he had last seen him. He could be commanding a ship against the French, or at this very moment lying many fathoms down with his men. But the roots would still be there. The house in Falmouth, his father and married sisters. What would he be suffering if, like Tyrrell, he knew all that was broken and trodden down in a country where brother fought brother and men cursed each other in the same language as they struggled and died?
Now Tyrrell, and many more besides, had nothing left. Not even a country?
There was a rap on the door and Graves stepped into the cabin?
'This was delivered by the guardboat, sir.' He held out a canvas envelope?
Bolitho walked to the windows again and slit it open with a knife. He hoped Graves would not notice Tyrell's misery, that the time taken to read the message would give him a moment to recover?
It was very brief?
He said quietly, 'We are ordered to weigh at first light tomorrow. We will be carrying important despatches to the admiral in Antigua.'
He had a mental picture of the endless sea miles, the long passage back to English Harbour and Colquhoun. It was a pity they had ever left in the first place?
Graves said, 'I'm not sorry. We'll have something to boast about this time.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. What an unimaginative man he is.' My compliments to the master. Tell him to make preparations at once.'
When Graves had gone Bolitho added, 'Maybe you'll wish to postpone dining with me?'
Tyrrell stood up, his fingers touching the table as if to test his own balance?
'No, sir. I'd like to come.' He looked round the cabin? 'This was th' last place I saw Jane. It helps a bit now.'
Bolitho watched him leave and heard the slam of a cabin door. Then with a sigh he sat down at the table and began to write in his log?
For seven untroubled days the Sparrow pushed her bowsprit southwards, taking full advantage of a fresh wind which hardly varied in bearing or substance throughout that time. The regrets and brooding despondency which most of the company had felt at New York seemed to have blown away on the winds and their new freedom shone in the straining canvas which gleamed beneath a cloudless sky. Even the memory of the last fight, the faces of
